


Bad Tidings

by Force_Sensitive_Timelord



Series: Midsomer Episodes [1]
Category: Midsomer Murders
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Force_Sensitive_Timelord/pseuds/Force_Sensitive_Timelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Troy has left, DS Daniel Scott arrives to work with DCI Tom Barnaby. But someone else is helping out on this case, the DCS. She's younger than you might think, but her skills are as good as any other Detective worth their rank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I feel the episodes drag on a bit and the fact that the Sergeant is always male got me thinking to add a female character who helps them out.
> 
> Please comment and let me know what you think.

I walk into the station, enter my key and walk to my office. A desk sergeant comes in.  
‘Ma’am, we have a murder. Who should take it?’  
‘Oh, erm… Barnaby and his new sergeant, Scott. I might go along with them and see what the new recruit is like.’  
‘Should I tell them, Ma’am?’  
‘No, it’s alright. I’ll take it to Barnaby.’  
I leave my office and walk down the hall, see Barnaby and run down after him.  
‘Morning.’  
‘Oh, good morning.’  
We walk down the rest of the way and walk into the large room where Barnaby’s desk is.  
‘Morning Alan,’ he says as I nod to the constable.  
‘Morning, sir, Ma’am.’  
‘D.S. Scott arrived yet, has he?’ asks the D.C.I.  
I look around.  
‘Who?’  
‘Detective Sergeant Scott,’ I say.  
‘The lucky boy’s been transferred to us from the MET,’ adds Barnaby.  
‘Well I haven’t seen him yet, sir.’  
I frown and go sit on the corner of Barnaby’s desk.  
‘Oh. Well… no message at all?’  
‘No, sir.’  
‘Oo.’ Barnaby turns to look at me. ‘I presume you are here to tell me I’m on a case.’  
‘Indeed.’ I explain the case to him.

We are walking outside the station when I spot a taxi. I stop before I get in the car. Barnaby notices and I give a nod to the taxi. There is a young man getting out. He pays the driver then starts unpacking.  
‘You by any chance D.S. Scott?’ calls Barnaby.  
‘Yeah, why?’ he sounds grumpy and leans back into the taxi. I grin.  
‘I’m D.C.I. Barnaby.’  
Scott’s head lifts up extremely quickly and he whacks his head. Wincing slightly, he stands up and nods. ‘Yes sir.’  
Barnaby becomes patronizing. ‘And we’re in a hurry, aren't we?’  
Scott nods. ‘Right, sir.’  
I get in the passenger seat and we drive to the crime scene.  
As we are, a conversation starts, Scott wondering who I am at the same time.  
‘I missed the fast train.’  
Barnaby and I both nod.  
‘And there were troubles on the line, I had to wait an hour and a half for a connection.’  
‘You been to this part of the world before?’  
I smirk.  
‘No, sir.’  
‘You can tell,’ I mutter to Barnaby quietly. He gives a silent chuckle.  
‘It’s nice scenery. If you like that sort of thing.’  
I turn in my seat to watch him looking out the window.  
The last leg of the journey passes and we arrive in a field.


	2. Part 2

‘You got somewhere to stay?’ asks Barnaby as we walk over, me turning about a lot.  
‘Not yet sir, no. I’ll have a look around.’  
‘What about the section house?’  
‘No thanks. Not really my style.’  
‘You’ve got a funny one here,’ I mutter quietly to Barnaby. He simply gives a short nod.  
Scott trips over. I grin slightly.  
‘Not used to walking on nature, are you?’  
He looks at me funnily and I raise an eyebrow in response.  
‘No.’ He stands up, avoids our eyes, brushes himself off and says grumpily, ‘What do they call this place, anyway?’  
‘This ‘place’ is called Chaney’s Field. It’s common land; been like this for hundreds of years.'  
‘Even got a mention in the Doomsday Book,’ I add.  
‘Mm.. it’s amazing.’  
I don’t believe Scott thinks it is but I let it slide.  
Barnaby gives him a quick look as we walk over to George Bullard.  
‘Her name’s Fiona Thompson,’ says a constable. ‘Husband reported her missing. She hasn’t been seen since last night.’  
Barnaby looks at the body while Scott gives a concerned glance at me.  
‘I’m sorry but… I really don’t know who you are?’  
‘In due course, I’m thinking you’ll know.’  
We look grimly down at the woman covered in blood with a red rose in her mouth.  
‘By the way, welcome to Midsomer,’ says Barnaby.  
I burst out laughing and go to talk to a forensic scientist.


	3. Part 3

‘I thought she’d spent the night in the spare room,’ says Mr Thompson, ‘it was only in the morning that I realized she hadn’t left for work.’ His voice rises in disbelief. ‘Her car keys were still here.’  
‘Where did she work, er, Mr Thompson?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Um… Causton College, she’s a… she was a secretory there.’  
I nod and look round at the shelves. Scott comes in as Mr Thompson continues.  
‘And she liked it there, she was happy.’  
‘I take it that you and your er, your wife were out together last night, sir?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Yes but, she left early. We were at the Spanish Evening.’  
‘I’m sorry, the what?’  
‘In the village hall, the Midsomer Mallow residence association. Oh, they’re fond of their so-called theme evenings.’  
Scott gets out his pad as I marshal some questions.  
‘Are you a member of this ‘Residence Association’, sir?’ asks Scott. I frown as he flippantly opens his notepad.  
‘No, no. Fiona is.’  
There is a pause as Scott writes something down.  
‘Was.’ Mr Thompson puts his fist to his mouth and gives a few dry sobs.  
Barnaby tries to send Scott a message with a glance to him which is returned. ‘We’re very sorry to have to ask you all these questions so soon, sir.’  
Scott raises an eyebrow slightly, trying to figure out why Barnaby has his head toward him pointedly.  
I give a silent chuckle and continue looking at the bookshelves. Scott’s mouth clamps and Barnaby turns back to Mr Thompson as I come round and stand next to Scott.  
‘But they, they are important.’  
Mr Thompson gives a weak nod.  
‘Could you tell us why your wife left early?’  
A sigh. ‘We had a row.’  
I lower my head sympathetically. The last memory, huh?  
‘About what?’ says Scott, voice normal loudness and strength. I grimace slightly.  
‘Oh, does it really matter?’  
‘I know it’s not pleasant to remember these things, especially so soon, but I’m afraid it does,’ I say.  
Scott looks uncomfortable. I can tell he’s trying to figure out what we’re trying to tell him.  
‘Oh, all right then, it was about money. Fiona was always spending too much money and she… she didn’t need to buy that Spanish dress it cost a fortune.’ He shakes his head. ‘Where was she found?’  
Barnaby replies. ‘Not very far away, just, Chaney’s Field.’  
‘Chaney’s Field, well uh… why was she there?’  
‘Did she not go there often?’ I ask.  
He shakes his head and I am about ready to wrap it up when Scott opens his mouth and asks in the same hard voice, causing me and Barnaby to close our eyes momentarily in dismay.  
‘What about the other members of the Residence Association, Mr Thompson?’  
‘What about them?’  
‘Well did your wife get on with them?’  
I lift my right leg obviously and stamp it down again. Scott frowns.  
‘Ha! The members of the Midsomer Mallow residence association never get with each other. How could they? They don’t even like each other.’  
We leave the house with a thank you and condolences. As soon as we are out, Scott gets it.   
‘Did I say something wrong, sir?’  
‘It’s not what you said,’  
‘It’s how you said it,’ I finish.


	4. Part 4

We reach George Bullard.  
‘Tom, bloodstains. So, she was killed here. Then her body must’ve been dragged onto the wasteland down the road,’ he points down the path then starts looking about. ‘And I’d say we’re looking for a long knife with a thin blade.’ He walks up the path a tad. He spots a purse and turns back to us.  
‘So what was she doing, dressed up like a Christmas tree?’  
I chuckle and Scott looks down at me quickly.  
‘She’d been out to a Spanish evening, George.’  
‘Oh. Well, that probably explains the red rose.’  
‘Does it?’ I ask, smiling.  
‘Nice touch.’  
I give another chuckle as George turns back round.  
‘John.’ The man comes over and takes the purse from George’s outstretched hand.  
‘What do you mean nice touch?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Well… she’d hardly be walking home with it in her mouth, would she? Someone with an odd sense of humour, maybe.’  
I give a nod to George. He frowns and looks past us. I turn next to Scott and see Mr Thompson standing at the corner of his house. He looks at us and then walks along sadly.  
As we walk back to the car, a conversation starts up.  
‘I can’t really imagine what goes on in these people’s minds,’ says Scott, ‘I’ve dealt with criminals and they just don’t make sense.’  
I laugh.  
‘What?’  
‘No one in Midsomer makes any sense, Scott. Not even one of them.’  
‘Well I’m sure they are easier to understand than all the criminals I’ve dealt with.’  
‘I wouldn’t bank on it,’ I say. We reach the car.  
‘And what would you know anyway?’ asks Scott in a neutral tone.  
‘Quite a lot. And it’s Ma’am to you, Scott. Actually, slightly more polite would do.’  
‘Ma’am?’ Scott is halfway in the passenger door.  
‘Yes, Scott. I’m the DCS.’  
Scott’s head goes up like it did in the Taxi this morning. ‘Ow!’  
He gets out and looks down at me.  
‘You are the DCS?’  
‘The Detective Chief Superintendent, yes.’  
‘Right, sorry,’ says Scott and gets out. I slip in the front and see Barnaby’s face, which has cracked up. I roll my eyes as Scott gets in and we drive off.

I’m standing next to Barnaby as we talk to Mary Pearce, a member of the residence association, the lady who found the shoe.  
‘I was walking along the hill when Monty, that’s my dog, he wanted to go down through Chaney’s field. Agh.’ She looks down then up to me. ‘That’s when I found the shoe.’  
‘What can you tell us about Fiona Thompson?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Ah… she wasn’t a… a very nice person.’  
‘In what way?’  
‘She liked to argue. She was al..ways arguing. She’s probably arguing with her maker right now.’  
‘Was there anything in particular she argued about often?’ I ask.  
‘A lot with her husband about money, I think. But normally, it was everyone and everything.’  
A man comes in, followed by a woman.  
‘Oh, they want to talk to us.’  
‘Please, come in,’ says Barnaby as I walk over to see what Scott is looking at. I keep my ears open, listening to Barnaby talking to the others.  
‘Shirley is the secretary of the residence association. And Donald is a long standing member of the committee.’  
‘We’ve been told Fiona and her husband were having an argument here last night, just before she left.’  
Shirley nods. ‘That’s right.’  
‘Yes, did you hear what was said in the particular argument?’  
‘No, I couldn’t hear much, not with the band playing.’  
‘And I was in the back room at the time,’ adds Mrs Pearce.  
‘So you couldn’t hear if any threats were being made?’  
I notice Donald looking at Shirley closely.  
‘By whom?’  
‘Mr Thompson.’  
‘No. But he looked angry.’  
The quiet is annoying me and I watch as Shirley’s large eyes dart to the ceiling and back again as she formed her answers, he head making stupid bobbing movements.  
‘Charles, threatened her once or twice,’ says Donald.  
Shirley purses her lips and says with a hollow fake smile, ‘He’s always threatening people.’  
‘Said he’d get her thrown off the committee.’  
Shirley’s face rises angrily. ‘Then he should’ve done it, shouldn’t he?’ she says the last few words through gritted teeth.  
I move my head back and raise my eyebrows slightly.  
‘Sorry, er, who’s Charles?’ asks Scott.  
‘Charles Rust. He’s our committee chairman,’ Shirley says stiffly.  
‘He used to be the local GP,’ adds Mary. ‘Now… I know this may seem unkind, Chief Inspector, but I hope the murder won’t affect any of our other events, we have such a lot planned.’  
Barnaby and I are about to reply when Donald talks.  
‘You know, I think I must have been the last one here to see her alive.’  
‘But one,’ says Barnaby.  
Donald takes us outside to the stairs. ‘I was here, having a cigarette. She came storming out. I said “Goodnight” to her but she didn’t answer, she just walked away.’  
‘Did you see anyone else?’ asks Scott.  
‘No. Er, Charles came out for a while to check on the carpark but I think he went back in.’  
‘Did you hear anything?’  
Donald pauses. ‘I heard a… a noise.’  
‘What sort of noise?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Well it was odd, some kind of… squeaking noise.’  
‘High pitched?’ I ask.  
‘I’m pretty sure, yes. Just out there,’ he points straight in front of him, ‘in the dark.’

After we leave, I walk round the streets looking for any more evidence and asking people questions as I go past them. They all say that she liked arguing, could be very short tempered ad seemed to always have something new she bought. Some say she was nice mostly and that she had a strong mind. I don’t find anything along the paths but when I get back to the hall I notice a path I haven’t checked. I decide it must be the path she took and so walk down slowly, seeing high heel marks. Some have been scuffed out by people walking since then, but it appears she turned round a few times, meaning she might have thought she had been followed.  
I meet up with Barnaby and Scott as they drive past and get in the car. We go to Tom’s house so Barnaby can introduce Scott. As we walk in, I see Cully sitting on the stairs on the phone.  
‘Oh, I’ve been in London mostly Cassie but um…’  
Scott and I both nod to her and she nods back then continues. I follow Tom into the kitchen, Scott close behind, looking round.  
‘Joyce!’ Tom has walked us into the kitchen where Joyce is weighing flour. ‘This is our new colleague, Daniel Scott. Daniel Scott, Joyce Barnaby.’  
‘Hello,’ smiles Joyce and shakes hands.  
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Barnaby. And, you surprise me. You don’t look anything like a policeman’s wife.’  
I raise my eyebrows, watching Scott.  
‘Oh?’ Joyce gives a nervous glance to me. I shrug slightly. ‘Why not?’  
‘You don’t have any worry lines.’  
I frown and look to Barnaby with a slight grin on my left side.  
‘What a nice thing to say,’ smiles Joyce happily.  
I move my jaw while sucking in my cheeks slightly, comprehending what’s going on.  
Tom looks slightly like I do and steps in before Scott can say anything else.  
‘Er… he’s got nowhere to stay for the time being so I’m going to check out a few B&Bs.’  
Joyce nods.  
‘If you had caught the right train this morning, that would’ve helped,’ he adds, walking out of the kitchen.  
I chuckle slightly and turn back to Joyce as Scott looks sheepish.

Cully takes Scott out to look round for places to stay while I go through some case notes on Fiona Thompson. But then I discover Tom and Joyce are going upstairs so I go up as well, knowing exactly what Joyce will be up to and that Tom will need some back up.  
‘Forget about a B&B,’ says Joyce coming to the top, ‘he looks exhausted.’  
Tom groans just enough for only me to hear. I smile and climb the last few steps.  
‘It’s just for one night, Tom.’  
Tom attempts to form a sentence in protest but ends up groaning. I’m chuckling silently in the corner.  
‘And the spare room’s free.’ Joyce goes to the cupboard.  
‘Look… Joyce. This is my home. It’s also my own free time and I have very little of that!’ It’s turned into a loud whisper argument.  
Joyce continues pulling sheets out and Tom looks defeated.  
‘Apart from which I don’t even know the man!’  
‘Then get to know him,’ says Joyce, forcing a blue blanket into Tom’s hands.  
I decide he could use a hand.  
‘He’s right,’ I add pleasantly, ‘There are rooms at the station he could use for a night.’  
‘Yes, but they’re not that nice! No, he can stay here.’ Joyce taps the blanket in Tom’s hands and starts walking down the stairs. Tom looks defeated and looks at me helplessly.  
I smile pitifully, shrug and follow Joyce. Poor Tom.


	5. Part 5

We get in the car and go find Scott. As we drive, I spot him looking at a board. Barnaby toots the horn. Scott walks over and gets in the back.  
‘We’ve just had a call,’ says Barnaby as the door closes, ‘Gary Thompson would like to talk to us.’  
‘Whadd’ya reckon sir?’ asks Scott, ‘confession?’  
‘Doubt it,’ I say and look out the window as we drive, thinking hard.

‘It came to me last night,’ says Mr Thompson, shutting the door, ‘I couldn’t sleep so I lay awake thinking about who could possibly want to harm her.’  
We follow him into the next room.  
‘I’m afraid Fiona was very good at making enemies.’  
‘Was Charles Rust one of them?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Yes,’ nods Mr Thompson. ‘In fact she upset most of the committee members. She liked to speak her mind, you see. But that’s not a reason to kill someone, is it?’  
‘Sorry,’ I say in the short pause, ‘but erm… was there anything in particular she ‘spoke her mind’ about often, Mr Thompson?’ I ask. ‘In the committee?’  
‘Um, well… the various gatherings and evenings, etcetera, had a lot of ‘mind speaking’, there was always much to disagree on, but really anything that wasn’t fact or that could be changed; she’d cause a fuss.’  
I nod.  
‘And then, lying awake,’ continues Mr Thompson, ‘I remembered the odd job man.’  
‘When was this?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘About a week ago. He wanted to know if there were any jobs that needed doing around the house and when she said no, he became angry.’  
I frown.   
‘Now she said that he threatened her.’  
‘Do you know his name?’ asks Scott.  
I make a mental note to tell him to soften his voice a bit when questioning family members.  
‘No.’  
‘Or… where he lives?’  
Mr Thompson shakes his head. ‘He has this old… wooden hand cart he pushes around.’  
Scott and Barnaby look at each other.  
‘Now the last time I saw him he was doing some work at the Spearman’s. They live in Grove House.’  
‘Do you know about how big the cart is?’ I ask.  
‘Um… well… it’s about waist height, fairly long.’  
‘Thank you.’  
‘And um, what sort of odd jobs does he do?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘I always told Fiona not to open the door to people she wasn’t sure of!’  
‘Mr Thompson, what sort of odd jobs?’  
‘Well he cleans windows.’  
I’m struggling to see if that’s very incriminating.  
‘And he sharpens knives.’  
I bite the inside of my lip, thinking.

We’re standing outside the Spearman’s house with Barnaby ringing the doorbell, Scott and I looking at the flash silver car. Scott continues walking round as I join Barnaby at the door.  
The door opens as I get there.   
‘Yes, what do you want?’ he has a very flat voice.  
‘Mr Spearman?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Yes.’  
‘Good morning to you.’ Barnaby gets out his ID. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, from Causton CID, and this is our Detective Chief Superintendent.’  
Mr Spearman puts his glasses on and looks at the ID.  
‘And er… this is Detective Sergeant Scott,’ adds Barnaby as Scott finally comes over.  
Mr Spearman finishes looking at the ID.  
‘We’re making inquiries about the death of one of your neighbours, sir.’  
‘Yes, it’s er… terrible news, er… but how can we help?’  
‘May we come in?’ asks Barnaby.  
Mr Spearman takes off his glasses and gestures inside disgruntledly.  
‘Who is it Mathew?’ calls a woman I presume to be Mrs Spearman.  
‘Er, it’s the police. They’re asking about Fiona Thompson.’ He stops at the stairs and looks up.  
A woman with blond hair is coming down, her high heels making a terrible noise.  
‘Please hurry up and catch whoever did it.’  
‘Er, don’t worry, we will,’ says Barnaby.  
‘See Mathew’s only here three or four days a week; I’m on my own for the rest of the time.’ She finishes with a smile and her hand straight, supported by her elbow resting on the banister. She the proceeds to walk straight between us and walk into the lounge room.  
‘I stay in London when things are busy, we have a flat close to my office,’ says Mr Thompson as he walks in. I follow him and proceed to then stand off to the side where I ca watch Mrs Spearman’s face in her blusher mirror.  
‘And were you in London, the night before last, sir?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘No… we were at home together, we wouldn’t have seen anything.’  
‘Why not?’  
‘Because whenever they have one of their famous ‘theme evenings’ in the village hall I turn the music up,’ says Mrs Spearman.  
‘And I go to bed early,’ adds her husband.  
‘It’s his age,’ she finishes.  
‘Thank you.’  
‘It was a joke!’  
I look to Scott with a raised eyebrow. Not the greatest marriage in the world, then.  
Mrs Spearman turns round and stands next to her husband.  
‘So I take it neither of you are members of the residence association,’ says Scott.  
‘Mathew was once.’ Mrs Spearman has a horrible phony smile on.   
‘Oh, but not for long. Couldn’t stand the people running it. I thought it would be something to do in the long winter evenings when Lynn was in New Zealand.’  
I watch her spoilt smile. ‘I was visiting my mother.’  
A small pause of silence.  
‘She emigrated and re-married and I went over for the wedding. I have to go.’  
‘Right,’ says Mr Spearman and gives her a kiss on the cheek.  
‘Oh, before you do,’ says Barnaby stepping politely in front of her, ‘if you didn’t see anything that night, did you hear anything?’  
‘Only the pathetic Spanish music,’ says Mr Spearman grumpily.  
‘You didn’t hear a squeaking sound?’ asks Scott.  
‘A what?’  
‘Like something being wheeled through the streets.’  
‘Or anything else along those lines,’ I add.  
Mr Spearman looks quickly at his wife then says, ‘No.’  
‘We understand you employ an odd job man,’ says Barnaby, ‘wheels his stuff around in a hand cart.’  
‘That freak!’ says Mrs Spearman, leaning back slightly.  
‘No, I hired him just the once,’ says her husband, ‘he was supposed to clean the windows.’  
‘Supposed?’ I ask.  
‘Didn’t do that best job in the world, but still they were cleaner.’  
‘What’s his name?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Never asked.’  
‘Did he threaten either of you?’ asks Scott.  
‘Eh… he got a bit bolshy with me when I refused to pay him.’  
We leave and get in the car.  
‘So, that’s twice he got cross,’ says Scott as we drive along.  
‘But the second time was when he didn’t get paid after doing the job,’ I say, ‘would you get cross if we refused to pay you?’  
‘I suppose so.’


	6. Part 6

We’re back at the police station and I’m in my office, looking round as I think. If Fiona Thompson liked to argue, then that means that anyone who could kill and had a good enough reason would’ve killed her. But why would someone drag her all the way to Chaney’s Field? Most people I talked to when I was walking about were surprised that she was found there, they seemed to think she was there when she had been killed. So she hated it. Someone must have really hated her to move her dead body to the Field to give her one last spite. And according to George Bullard, they have a sense of humour. Of sorts.  
The real question is whether the squeaking is involved with the murder or if it was just some sort of old gate or someone fooling about. But even if it wasn’t, we still have to find this odd job man to prove it. And if it wasn’t his handcart that made the noise, what did? I try to think of something else. Anything with wheels would be the best choice, but someone rolling a wheel round in their backyard late at night doesn’t make sense. Of course, we’d need to meet the odd job man to see if he makes a habit of going round the village with his cart in the middle of the night.  
I ring Barnaby.  
‘DCI Barnaby?’  
‘Hi! Can you get Scott to phone and see if there is anything that might help us find this odd job man?’  
‘Sure. Scott!’

Barnaby and I then go to the village to do some more investigating. Scott runs up to us.  
‘Sir, Ma’am!’ He catches up.  
‘I think I’ve tracked down our odd job man.’  
‘Excellent,’ I say.  
‘Jacob Stoke. No known address, he works at a couple of the Midsomer Villages.’  
‘Good,’ says Barnaby.  
‘Criminal Record?’ I ask.  
‘A couple of minor offences, drunk disorderly, threatening behaviour oh and apparently he uses a workshop, some kind of lockup.’  
‘Where?’  
‘Barrow End.’  
‘Barrow End…’ echoes Barnaby, ‘I know it!’  
‘That’s good,’ I say, watching someone as they walk past.  
‘Hi Dad!’ calls a voice.  
I turn.  
‘Hello, Cully!’  
‘These are my old friends. Lynn Spearman,’  
‘Oh yes, we’ve met!’ says Barnaby cheerfully.  
‘Hello again,’ I say, smiling.  
‘and Cassie Woods,’ finishes Cully.  
‘I remember when we last met, Mr Barnaby.’  
‘When was that?’  
‘It was during one of our school plays.’  
I notice Cully looks down briefly. Uh-oh.  
‘I was doing front of house, you arrived late.’  
Barnaby is still smiling. ‘Did I enjoy the play?’  
‘Shouldn’t think so, no-one else did.’  
I tilt my head slightly.  
‘Well, I’ll see you later,’ says Barnaby to Cully and continues. I follow, leaving Scott to talk to Cully about his house for a second.

We arrive at a rundown old shed.  
‘This is it?’ I ask.  
‘I’m afraid so,’ says Barnaby.  
Scott walks over and peers in. He then proceeds to open the two wooden green doors. We go in and look round. There isn’t much inside.  
‘So…’ says Scott, ‘been a while since this place was used.’  
‘Yesss.’ Barnaby looks round while I fiddle with a few things on the shelf behind Scott. ‘Could’ve moved on, I s’pose, left the area.’  
‘But why leave all this behind?’ I ask to no-one in particular.  
Barnaby spots something and lifts an arm to get it down. I lose interest and scuff some dirt away from a tool on the floor, looking closely at it.  
I notice whatever Barnaby has found has come down so I stand up to look at it. A long, clean, sharp knife. Hm…  
Barnaby turns the large circular disc in the sharpener and sharpens the blade slightly. I watch as it sparks then take it from his outstretched hand as he passes it to me. I look closely and see the difference.

The next morning I’m walking along with Barnaby when he sees Cully’s car. We go over but as we do someone beckons us over. It’s a young woman with a small child.  
‘I’ll go,’ I say and walk over.  
‘Hello, um, I’m sorry to bother you but I was just wondering a couple of things.’  
‘Of course,’ I say, smiling.  
‘Well, um, the first thing is I was wondering if you had spoken to the committee of the residence association, we were wanting to know if the upcoming garden day or whatever it is was still going ahead.’  
‘I am fairly sure it is, I haven’t heard otherwise,’ I say.  
‘Oh and also we wanted to know if you think there is any danger to any ordinary family in the village.’  
‘Well, of course, no one is completely safe with a murderer in their village but we have some strong leads and I am certain we will have caught them extremely soon. As for those leads, it seems Fiona Thompson was killed by someone who had a grudge or a very strong reason to want her dead, you may well know she was found in Chaney’s Field; a place she detested. Many people have told us that Fiona liked to cause trouble-‘  
‘She did!’ says the young girl, ‘she told my brother off for being loud in the playground once!’  
‘Well that supports what I’m saying, thank you. As there are no other murders to report, it seems conclusive that there was a strong reason for Fiona Thompson to be murdered, so it seems we are not dealing with someone who would kill at any given moment at any random person. If you have no problems or hold no secrets enough for someone to endanger you for, then you are the safest people in this village, and you will be even safer soon.’  
The woman smiles. ‘Thank you. Come along, Rose.’  
‘Bye!’ calls Rose.  
‘Bye!’ I smile and wave back at her.  
I walk back over to Barnaby. We go get Scott and pay a visit to Mr Rust.


	7. Part 7

He’s in his garden.  
‘Mr Rust!’ says Barnaby, ‘We’re sorry to disturb you, again. This is Detective Sergeant Scott, and our Detective Chief Superintendent.’  
‘And I’m… too busy to answer any more of your questions.’  
I raise an eyebrow. Mr Rust walks between us and goes over to another bush.  
Barnaby looks to Scott, tilts his head and follows.  
I walk next to Scott. ‘Do you know much about gardening?’  
‘A bit,’ he says.  
‘Good. Back me up.’  
We walk over.  
‘Oo, look at that rose arch!’ I say loudly.  
‘Lovely Roses. What a beautiful garden you have here,’ says Scott.  
‘Are those Mother’s Love roses?’ I chime in, ‘They’re lovely.’  
Mr Rust looks up, straightens and smiles.  
‘It’s probably the best in the village.’  
Scott smiles. ‘The nearest I ever got to a garden was a window box. And then someone nicked that.’  
‘Oh, my garden is always full of colour;’ I say happily, ‘my favourite rose is by far the Mr Lincoln. The deep red, the beautiful scent… of course, it’s one of many fine roses, each having its own defined beauty… And orchids are beautiful, too. However, I find that simpler, smaller plants compliment and are complimented more with the roses rather than the more flashy ones, the two plants have bad contrast otherwise. But when you see a garden that’s got it right, it’s a very pleasant sight.’ I look around.  
Mr Rust looks extremely happy while Barnaby and Scott look at me, surprised.  
‘A… and the bell?’ asks Scott, eyebrows slightly raised as he still tries to take in what I just said.  
‘The… the bell! Oh, you er… you’ve met Donald Tew, of course?’  
Scott and I nod, me rather eagerly. I love gardens.  
‘Well he was once the headmaster here and he will tell you that the bell was only ever used on one special occasion each year.’ Mr Rust is still beaming.  
Barnaby’s recovered. ‘And what special occasion would that be, sir?’  
‘Awards day.’  
I look at the bell more.  
‘Now! How can I help you?’  
I inwardly smirk.  
‘Er, Mr Rust would you take a look at this?’ asks Barnaby, holding out an evidence bag.  
He looks at it.  
‘Come inside, it’s a little nippy out here. I’ll show you something.’  
He walks off, still beaming and Barnaby turns to Scott and I. He lets his head drop, raises his eyebrows and looks at us. Scott simply grins while I look innocent, give a diagonal shrug, half a smile and follow Mr Rust happily.  
‘Ah! Here we are.’ Mr Rust puts his glasses on and looks closely at the rose in the evidence bag. ‘Let’s see. Oh, yes, it’s a Fragrant Cloud. It’s a hybrid tea. It’s um, it’s quite common.’  
‘Told you,’ I mutter to Scott.  
‘Could this have come from the rose bush in your front garden?’ asks Barnaby.  
‘Yes. But there are similar bushes in the village though… not quite as well kept as Myn.’  
I incline my head.  
‘If you’d care to take a look this weekend it’s our open garden day.’  
‘Oh, right,’ says Barnaby.  
‘Tell me, why are you asking me about a dead, damaged rose?’ asks Mr Rust as he walks into the next room and sits at his desk.  
‘Because it was found on the body of Fiona Thompson.’  
‘Well, she was probably wearing it with that stupid dress of hers.’  
‘No she wasn’t,’ says Barnaby. ‘You said that on the night of the Spanish evening you checked the village hall carpark “a couple of times.” Is that right?’  
Mr Rust looks blankly at him. He then shrugs. ‘Yes, I mean, some of those idiots don’t know how to park their cars.’ He finishes with a small breathy laugh.  
‘And other then that you didn’t leave the village hall?’  
‘No.’  
‘Until when?’  
‘Oh, er… it must’ve been.. well after midnight, there were things to do.’  
‘Thank you, Mr Rust. Er… this was Donald Tew’s house, wasn’t it? When he was headmaster?’ says Barnaby as he turns round.  
Mr Rust sits down at this desk. ‘Er, yes and the er, blackboard in the kitchen belongs to the school as well, and I use this original teachers desk here in my study. I love this house.’  
‘It’s very nice,’ I say and get the evidence bag from Barnaby to have another look at the rose.  
‘Is your garden part of the open day, Mr Rust?’ asks Scott.  
‘Naturally.’  
‘Well, I look forward to it,’ I say.  
‘And I expect to win the top prize; chairman’s cup.’  
Scott smiles. ‘I’m sure you’ll do it.’  
‘Especially since half the other gardens bound to be on display are not as well tended. Or have thistles everywhere,’ I say.  
‘Thank you.’  
We walk out the gate.  
‘You know you two could charm a toad out of a tree, you.’  
‘Hm!’ Scott moves his head to the side.  
‘I like gardens!’ I say, mocking defence and shrugging slightly. ‘Oh! Good day Mrs Pearce!’ I see her walking on the other side of the green.  
‘Hello!’  
I notice the dog. ‘Is this Monty?’  
‘Yes, it is!’  
I open the car door.  
‘Have a nice day!’  
‘You too!’

It’s the open garden day.  
Joyce and Tom picked me up from my house and we drive over.  
‘I don’t see the point of wandering about in someone else’s garden!’ says Tom.  
I chuckle slightly in the back seat.  
‘Well it’s to learn something!’  
‘Euff…’  
I grin and look out the window.  
‘Like what?! Have tab-feed broad beans?’  
At least I think that’s what Tom muttered; a car started beeping behind us continuously. Joyce and I turn round in our seats. It’s Mrs Spearman’s car.  
‘She must know it’s a police car, why is she doing that?’ I mutter.  
‘I’m not sure… still, married for money, according to Cully.’  
‘True.’  
Joyce rolls her eyes at Tom.  
The car continues. ‘We’re a lost race, do you know that? We care more for our gardens and our pets than we do for our kith and kin.’  
The beeping and reckless driving that is Mrs Spearman’s continues behind us.  
Then one long beep and I notice her pulling out.  
‘Bank left, quickly!’ I say.  
‘What the bloody hell?!’  
Barnaby does that then turns to Joyce. ‘Are you alright?’  
‘Yeah, um… I.. I’m fine.’ She sounds breathless.  
Tom gives me a quick look. I nod to the car. He turns back in his seat and continues driving.  
We get a little further down and see the car outside a house.  
‘Isn’t that the car that forced us off the road?’ asks Joyce.  
‘Yeah.’  
‘Are you gonna say something?’  
‘Nah. Spoil our afternoon? Don’t think so.’  
‘We’ll see her again, anyway,’ I assure Joyce, ‘I won’t forget.’


End file.
